In the firmament above, the blood-red glow spread like auroras, forming strands within which scarlet moths fluttered, breathtakingly beautiful.
In the air, Xu Qing's long hair flowed as his figure stood tall, holding aloft the severed head of the god. At that moment, his silhouette etched itself into the memories of every cultivator on the battlefield.
This battle, originally locked in a stalemate between the cultivators and the gods, was altered by the appearance of Xu Qing and his group—a decisive force, akin to the final straw that broke the camel's back.
With their intervention, the scales of war tipped completely, propelling the battle toward its conclusion.
Amid the rising cacophony of slaughter and explosions, the god's forces on the battlefield crumbled, retreating in disarray like a collapsing mountain under the overwhelming tide of cultivators.
Zhou Zhengli, Star Ring, and the others naturally seized the opportunity and fused into the tide, harvesting crazily.
